How the Brownies Saved Christmas
by MyLittleYellowBird
Summary: Not even Shelagh's powers of organization can make Christmas less harried for a busy woman. But there just may be a bit of Scottish magic on hand to save the day (and her sanity)!


_Go ahead. Take a peek._

 _No, it's not rude, the family have all gone out for the day, they won't even know you were here._

 _The Brownies, on the other hand, might have something to say….._

"Fergus! You're not to be doin' tha'! She dinnae ask!" a tiny voice hissed through the air.

"Ach, ne'er ye mind, 'tis a wee pot, naught to get yerself up in a lather!" The gruff voice that answered.

High above the kitchen, the air above a cupboard shimmered, revealing a tiny figure—human-like, but not quite. Not quite three inches tall, the creature more closely resembled the drawing of an imaginative child than a real person. Thin and wiry, with a large head covered by a thatch of coarse brown hair and long narrow feet and hands, the creature glared down at the kitchen sink.

Another shimmer of light, and another figure became visible. Stout and sturdier of build than the first, this creature bent over scrubbing a pot.

"Scorched porridge is nae to be ignored, ye know tha', Aggie. And I'm nearly done."

The stout elf straightened and clambered up the edge of the basin. Behind him, the scorched porridge continued to disappear from the enameled pot.

"She left it to soak! She'll clean it when she gets home!" Aggie's voice grew more agitated. "You know the rules, Fergus. She has to _ask_ for help."

Fergus sighed. "I know, lass, but the stubborn wifey ne'er does. A list as long as that boy's arm, and she ne'er once calls on the Brownies to make quick work of it all."

Aggie appeared at his side, and put a long fingered hand on his rough-hewn tunic. "I know, dearie. But if the Grand Council found out we'd been using our magic withou' invitation, they'd be sending us off to some noisy place where there humans never leave more'n a moment. I thought ye liked the quiet here during the day."

"I do, but a few tasks here or there would help keep my skills sharp."

"You'll just have to get used to it, Fergus. I don't know how she gets it all done, being human an' all. Her man is more help than most humans, but that's a low bar. There's still so much to do I don't know how she ever sleeps, especially since the two of 'em m…" Aggie shuddered. "I'll not agin make the mistake of going up to the bedrooms of an evenin', that's for certain."

Fergus flicked his fingers and the pot rose in the air above the sink to settle in the empty drying rack. "One time breaking the rules shouldn't alert the Council, but fingers crossed we'll spark an idea in her shiny head."

Hours later, the front door opened and the still silence of the home was shattered as five Turners burst in.

"But _all_ of them, Shelagh?" Patrick Turner trailed behind his wife, weighed down by a wriggly tot, a heavy medical bag and an unwieldy tangle of Christmas boughs.

"Patrick, we can hardly invite one or two. Hang your coat up neatly, Angela, dear, and careful not to bend your angel wings. Besides, it'll be lovely having a party. This house was made for social gatherings, I said that the first time we saw it!"

Patrick sighed and released his youngest child. "We just _had_ a party for Angela's birthday. Besides, things are busy enough already. We couldn't possibly pull together a Christmas luncheon for over a dozen people!"

"Pish!" Shelagh scoffed. "All a busy week needs is a good list." She patted her beleaguered husband's arm. "You'll see, dear. Everything will run like clockwork."

It seemed the clock was running a bit off at the Turner house over the next few days. Shelagh's To Do List, written with such care and attention to detail, seemed to grow longer each day, and each day Aggie and Fergus sat by watching helplessly.

"That bairn'll have all the ornaments crushed under his feet if they don't move 'em higher," grumbled Fergus from a high bow on the Christmas tree.

"It was torture watching 'er doin' the ironin' late last night! Any self-respectin' brownie coulda had those linens finished in the work of a moment, and I had to watch her for two hours last night!" Aggie wrung her hands. "Fergus, this has got to stop!"

Shaking his head, Fergus replied, "I kno', Aggie, I kno'. The Council was firm upon it when I asked. No doing nothin' on that list until she asks."

The miserable silence went on between them for long moments, when Aggie jumped up. "The list!" She skipped down the feathery branches, her weight setting off a tiny tinkle of ornaments. "The Council said we cannae do anything on the list, not that we couldn't do anything _to_ the list…"

"Ach, clever lass!" In a bound, Fergus was beside his wife helping to push a pen across the sheet of notepaper. "A few new items to tick off here and there...She'll be begging for us to help in no time!"

"How on earth!" Shelagh muttered. "Patrick, have you been adding to my To Do List?"

Patrick looked up from underneath a tangle of gift wrap and ribbons. "It's more than my life's worth to mess with my wife's system, Shelagh." He grimaced as the roll of bright red paper tore away from the microscope he was wrapping.

"Never mind," Shelagh said, handing him another piece of tape. "Tim won't mind if it's not perfect."

A pair of dark eyebrows shot up. "That's a change," he teased. "Does this new laissez-faire attitude to wrapping mean I don't have to put a bow on it?"

"It most certainly does not. We have to have some standards!" She giggled, then returned to her list. "It's my handwriting, of course, but I can't recall adding these items to the list. 'Find Timothy's red jumper...choir practice…laundry…' Now why on earth would I put laundry on my to do list?"

Patrick was befuddled. "Because there's laundry to be done?"

"There's _always_ laundry to be done—no need to put it on the list!" She struggled to hold in a yawn. "I'm starting to think maybe you were right, dear. There's so much to do, and as soon as I've finished one task, a new one appears. Oh! More firewood!"

Hidden by Angela's costume hanging by the door, Fergus and Aggie nodded in excitement.

In the morning, the list had grown even longer. Angela announced she'd need a photograph of the family for crafts in school, and Tim's revising group was looking for a place to work together as the library was closing for the weekend. Patrick needed help finding his keys, and Teddy had decided that he _was not happy_ strapped in his chair. Getting her family out the door was proving to be more of a challenge than usual, and Shelagh was starting to show signs of weariness.

"Why does the porridge always stick when there's the most to do?" She grumbled. "Oh, Patrick, can you stop at the Butcher's on the way home? I forgot we'll need a roast for Granny Parker's visit on Christmas Eve. I hope Teddy's in a cooperative mood today, as soon as I've ticked off one thing, two more appear!"

Christmas was three days away. Well, two days and twenty-three hours, to be precise. On call for the past week in order to be home with the family at Christmas, Patrick had not been able to get to the butcher's after all, nor had he been much help in making the pastry for the mince pies he so loved for the holiday feast, yet had somehow he had found the nerve to add "mistletoe" to her list. Timothy offered some support, but his A-levels weighed heavily in him, and Shelagh did not want to add additional stress to the young man's load.

So here she sat, exhausted and cranky, wrapping gifts in the cooling kitchen. She stretched and let out a very in-Shelagh-like groan. "I'll never be ready!"

She reached for the cellophane tape, but the edge had disappeared on the roll. Running her finger nails along the surface over and over, she struggled to find the starting point without luck. In a burst of temper, she tossed the roll at the pile of laundry that sat unfolded in the basket beside the stairs. Immediately embarrassed, she stood and made for the teapot.

"Empty. Of course."

She leant back against the kitchen counter and tried to regain her composure. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimmer just above the Christmas tree. Instinctively, she tiptoed across the room to stand beside the brightly lit pine and peered up into the space. There was the glimmer again!

"Shelagh Turner, you have got to get some sleep!" she whispered. "What's gotten into you?" Bending down, she unplugged the fairy lights. "There, now it was just your imagination!"

Unwilling to look back up at the place on the tree that had brought her across the room, Shelagh turned to the stairs. "The old Scottish stories are starting to trick your eyes, Shelagh Turner. Best get to bed and start fresh in the morning."

She looked about the chaos of the house and decided Patrick would understand. She'd set her alarm for an hour early and straighten the mess before the children woke. She allowed herself one last glance at the tree, then giggled.

"Well, Brownies, if you are there, have at it!"

The morning light of the last Sunday of Advent was weak as it snuck in between the bedroom curtains, slowly waking Shelagh. She breathed in deeply, then woke with a start. Sitting up quickly, she tossed the covers aside and jumped from the bed. It was nearly seven! The children would wake any moment and she'd left Christmas gifts out for all to see! Oh, how had she forgotten to set the alarm?!

Patrick murmured in protest as the cool air hit, and struggled to pull the covers back over himself. "It's too early, Shelagh, come back to bed."

"Patrick! I've left everything! You stay up here and mind the children don't come down until I've handled the mess." She tore from the room tugging her fuzzy blue robe over her shoulders and left her slippers behind.

"Shelagh, Shelagh!" She muttered in irritation. "You've taken on too much and now everyone will be disappointed—"

She came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, stunned by the sight before her. All signs of Christmas wrapping were gone, the laundry was neatly folded in its basket (was that Tim's red jumper on top, she wondered?), and Angela's costume hung from a hanger neatly pressed and ready for the afternoon Nativity Play.

"Shelagh?" Patrick came up behind her. "Everything alright?"

Aware that her mouth was frozen in an Oh! of surprise, Shelagh struggled to regain her composure. She turned to ask him a question, but he spoke first.

"You were busy last night! All the gifts wrapped and hidden in the upstairs cupboard, the mince pies are done—I had one or two, I hope you don't mind—and there must be miles of paper chains ready to be hung!"

Shelagh nodded and struggled to find words.

"There can't possibly be anything else to do this early. Come back to bed, the children will be asleep for a bit longer" Patrick coaxed, his hand on her elbow, a wolfish grin on his face. "There's one thing we need to add to your To Do List."

Shelagh turned back to the tree one last time as she headed up the stairs. Yes, the glimmer was still there. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Ach, no good deed goes unpunished," Fergus groused. "They'll be off knockin' boots before ye know it!"

Aggie slipped her hand in her husband's. "Now, Fergus, we'll just be sure to keep down here, then, there's still plenty to be done. Have ye seen where they keep the good China dishes?"


End file.
